


Compromise

by maximum_overboner



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Degradation, He's a whole step above a powertop, He's like a quantum supertop, Knotting, M/M, PWP, Painplay, Powertop Black Hat, Rough Sex, Smut, You better believe there's a tentacle penis here, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 06:25:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11285523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: There’s consequences to crossing Black Hat, but he’s as shrewd as he is punishing.





	Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> some good old fashioned, no holds barred fuggin'
> 
> ...
> 
> ... fluggin'

God, how Flug adored planes!

Man made birds built to do what was once thought impossible, soaring boxes that _spat_ in the face of God, lumbering metal cans that would flit as gently as the starlings do. Magnificent, scary things. A testament to the overwhelming ingenuity and arrogance of mankind! He couldn’t indulge his hobby as he once had, on account of being in Black Hat's 'service', but he made do with what he had. 

Flug had his pilot’s license; he took the test on his seventeenth birthday (missing out on his own birthday party, and given that none of the invited guests appeared the attendance rate was a soul crushing zero percent) and passed with flying colours.

Flug laughed at his own pun.

Flying! Colours! Because of the planes!

One thing somehow more fascinating than the way they would fly, however, was the way they _wouldn’t._

Mechanical errors, drunkenness, someone getting head in the pilot’s seat and plowing into the ground as a result, suicide, communication errors, particularly sneaky mountains, the weather, pilot errors--

Flug shuddered at that one. The most common, and the most personal. But still, interesting to look up. His fascination with planes had been with him since he was little, but his obsession with crashes was a newer development. He set about distracting himself, scratching at a burn under his bag and dipping his paintbrush into the small pot of paint. He was afforded little time to himself in the mansion, between the hellish working conditions, planning, dealing with Black Hat and fending off Dementia’s attempts to hit him for cheap laughs, but what he had he spent on this. He was in charge of the accounts and every month he diverted a small portion of the funds towards his own ends. His reward, he told himself, for putting up with this nonsense. Nothing lavish, Black Hat would catch on, but small, easily explained expenses. Flug had been working on a model plane for the past week or so, until he would grow tired and shuffle to his bed. He had painstakingly scraped at the plastic with a knife until it was as smooth as the real thing. A Gloster Meteor, this time. Truth be told he found it to be ugly, but that was part of its charm; it would certainly make a fine addition to his growing little collection.

Despite the seven locks his door swung open. Flug had his back to it but didn’t bother to flinch. The only thing in the house capable of ignoring the deadbolts was here. The hurricane had swept into his room.

That was an unfair comparison. It was at least possible to escape a hurricane.

Flug immediately cut all attachment to his hard work as it was clear Black Hat was going to stomp up, wrench the little plane from his grasp and smash it like a piñata of sadness. He took a deep breath in, gently placed the plane on the table and braced himself. Flug heard the even, clipped sounds of dress shoes on wood drawing nearer. Black Hat breathed by his neck, quiet but rasping.  

“Don’t mind me,” he burbled, like hot tar.

Flug couldn’t bear to turn around.

“Uh-- Uh, I-I--”

It was clear this wasn’t a request, it was a command.

_“Don’t mind me, Flug.”_

Flug, confused and terrified, resumed his work as best he could, his shaking hands struggling to hold the brush as Black Hat exhaled, the air puffing down his shirt and cooling against Flug’s chest. Flug could hear his voice in it, faint but throaty. Flug heard the sound of fabric then saw as Black Hat placed his neatly folded gloves on the table in front of them. He gripped Flug’s shoulders, a smidge too hard, and rubbed.

This was not soothing. It was if Black Hat was incapable of retaining heat, even as he kneaded his hands grew no warmer. The confusion overtook the fear at this point, all Flug could do was sit there and look forward as he tried to figure out what was happening.

“No, no, continue,” Black Hat said, “if this is worth diverting _my_ money to it’s clearly very important.”

Well, that was Flug strung up and killed, then. When he tried to stand up Black Hat’s grip became excruciating, but when he forced himself to relax it became worryingly gentle.  

“I--I, it’s-- how long have--”

“Since the first time you fool; I wanted to see what you would do. Toys, Flug?”  

Black Hat slid his hands under Flug’s shoulders, prompting him to stand up, scooted the chair away with his foot and set about exploring with touches so gentle that they could barely be felt. Suddenly he drove his face into the crook of Flug’s neck and ran his long, reptilian tongue up the skin, where the artery lay. He inhaled, shuddering, squeezing him closer. Flug whimpered. He painted but it was fruitless, he couldn’t concentrate at all, the situation was too dangerous. Too thrilling.

Black Hat ran his hand up Flug’s thigh. Then under his shirt. Then rubbed his semi over his jeans. Flug yelped at this, but was shushed with a hiss from Black Hat.

“Shut up.”

Flug did as he was told. He remained still when Black Hat tore away the front of his jeans, nicking the skin and tugging out a few hairs with a jolt. Black hat spat into his palm, then made a loose fist and held it over the tip of Flug’s half-hard cock.

“Go on,” he murmured.

Flug humped, haltingly, pretending he was plunging into something soft, warm and wet. His predicament heightened the sensations, the slickness, the cold touch of Black Hat’s hand sending shivers running up and down his back until he was fully erect. This wasn’t a kind gesture, Black Hat just wanted to see his pet perform, but it didn’t matter. Flug felt something press against him, long, squirming, and cloaked under trousers. Flug pulled down the what little of his jeans remained and spread his legs, palms braced to the table, well aware of what was expected of him. Something freezing squirmed against his backside erratically, like a worm lacking a head, before finding purchase and driving in. Flug braced himself for searing pain but found none, just discomfort as his body acclimatized to the sensation. It was, mercifully, self lubricating. Black Hat grunted, then started to move.

His pace was breakneck.

Flug collapsed forward onto the table, head braced to his arms as Black Hat pounded as hard as he was able. The assorted models jostled, the legs of the table scraped loudly against the ground and it was forced forward, the only sounds being the heady slap of flesh on flesh, Flug’s croaks and Black Hat’s rasping, growling exhales. All Flug could do was bend over and take it.

Suddenly, without warning, Black Hat set loose his teeth and clamped down on Flug’s neck. Flug jerked at the pain but found movement made it worse, so instead stood there, gritting his teeth and scrabbled at the desk as best he could. Beyond the pain, however, was exhilaration. Endorphins and thick, cool salvia. Flug broke and began jerking himself off, only stopping when Black Hat pulled his hand away.

“No.”

“Please,” he choked.

Black Hat thrust harder, sending a spike of pain through his body.

“No,” he repeated.

Flug reared back and cried out as Black Hat lapped at the rivulets of blood collecting on his neck and cascading down his chest, alternating between biting and sucking until Flug’s neck was mottled with fresh bruises and punctures. Flug rolled his head to accommodate this. Searing, burning, thundering pain, lapped at and soothed and tended to, mockingly intimate. Black Hat dragged his nails across Flug’s thighs, leaving thin gashes.

“You tear like _paper,”_ he spat.

Flug tensed up, his body locking, his cries growing in volume. Black Hat snarled in his ear.

“Don’t.”

Flug yelped out an apology and came, splattering the underside of the table.

“God,” Black Hat breathed, “you’re a disappointment.”

The pulsing tendril grew in girth as Black Hat fucked him until, with a loud moan and a juddering of the thighs, he came. Flug could feel it swell inside him, pumping out searing waves of cum and plugging him, stretching him painfully, delightfully, until Black Hat was stuck. He hunched on Flug’s back, panting, still biting. Thrusting, though lethargically. With a shiver, he stopped, sucking on the wounds he had made and gasping. After a few minutes of this he slid out, and when Flug turned to face him, wounded, battered and coming down from the best orgasm of his life, found that Black Hat looked at put together as he always did. The only thing that betrayed him was the look in his eyes and the sweat dripping down his forehead.  

“Clean up. You’re a mess.”

Black Hat pulled a tissue from his pocket, handed it over dismissively, donned his gloves and walked out, leaving Flug spent, delirious, bleeding, but alive. Very much alive, too alive; his heart thundered in his chest and his vision swam, his knees shook and he craved more, it was like flying. Dangerous, thrilling and potentially devastating. Flug noticed that his model planes, delicate, prone to breaking as they were, remained perfectly intact. Flug could only laugh in relief, cleaning what he could with the meagre tissue and hobbling to a bathroom.

Black Hat, ever the businessman, had struck up a deal.


End file.
